Five Times Finn McMissile Didn't Say What He Felt
by Mighty ANT
Summary: And the one time he did. Mild, mild Finn/Holley-can be seen as friendship. Oneshot


**The Five Times Finn McMissile Didn't Say What He Felt **

_And the one time he did. _

_Disclaimer: Cars and its characters © PIXAR _

* * *

**-Leland Turbo-**

"I'm leaving, Finn."

The Aston Martin didn't even look up from the computer screen, and the files he was decoding to spare his partner a glance. "Yes, that's quite nice," he mumbled distractedly, spinning the mouse under his tire. C.H.R.O.M.E. Headquarters buzzed around them. "See you tomorrow, old chap."

Leland exhaled softly, eyelids drooping, and his usual immature air was nonexistent. "No, Finn. I meant that I'm leaving C.H.R.O.M.E."

The elder spy car froze abruptly, azure eyes wide. He didn't look up from the monitor for a few more seconds before his gaze shifted to that of the younger vehicle. The joking smirk he had half-hoped to see was replaced by a grim frown. "Wha-what?" he managed to choke out.

The Jaguar sighed. "I'm being deported. To America, in fact. The heads of CIA and C.H.R.O.M.E. have apparently been making plans behind our backs, and agreed to ship me out in order to help on some top secret mission—the usual deal…they've given me a day to pack my belongings…I take leave at first light."

"Wh-when did this happen?" Finn sputtered, rising irately on his axles.

Leland exhaled sharply once more, "just last night. I was trying to find a gentler way of breaking it to ya'."

"But-but you're my partner!" the Aston Martin said, brow furrowed. "And have been for nearly twenty years! What gives them the right?"

Leland smiled that coy smile of his. "Well, if it really bothers ya' _that much_ for me ta' leave, perhaps you could put in a good word or two in my favor…ya'know, with the boss to keep your best mate in the country?" the Jaguar's hopeful smile grew wider, but the elder car only blanched. They both knew that he was rubbish at expressing what he was truly feeling.

"Erm, well…"

"Now, c'mon," Leland pressed, iris-colored eyes prodding and knowing. He knew, if somewhat faintly and at the very back of his subconscious, what the Aston Martin's answer would be. "Whatever happened to "nearly twenty years" of loyal partner and friendship? Does that have any meaning to ya' now, mate?"

Finn was silent, eyes refusing to stay in one place for longer than a few seconds. He sighed heavily then, entire frame sagging. And for the first time, his best friend saw the elder car's true age in his features. "I…I just…I only hope that you find everything you're looking for, in…in America."

The Jaguar blinked, rolling back, but truthfully, he'd known what Finn's answer would be all along. One didn't become acquainted with another for years and not recognize the telling signs. He held back the same disappointed sigh as he always did, preparing to reverse out of the room.

"Thanks mate. I wish I could say the same to you."

* * *

**-Siddeley-**

The air inside the jet's cabin was tense, silent and unnerving. Siddeley had expected the Aston Martin to be rattling off a direct description and explanation of what had transpiring in the three days since leaving one of C.H.R.O.M.E.'s bases in a frenzied whirlwind. Perhaps even a list of criminals to search for or speak of. But no—Finn didn't breathe a word. And Siddeley knew that the spy car was usually not one for silence.

"Finn?" the jet began haphazardly, activating his internal communicator. Even though his companion had not spoken, Siddeley had an inkling of what had happened on the oil rig—the transmission from a harried Leland Turbo calling for assistance being enough of a clue. "Are you…alright, mate?"

The Aston Martin gave a chaste smile that the aircraft couldn't see. "Of course, old boy. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well—" the jet began, startled, when Finn cut him off.

"Because you know very well, Sid that I'm not one for sympathy."

Siddeley sighed. He was going to make things difficult…_again._ "Yes, but I don't see how—"

He was interrupted again.

"Because I'm perfectly fine," the spy car continued airily, examining a tire. "I've dealt with complications such as these before." In Siddeley's honest opinion, it sounded like Finn was trying to reassure himself.

The jet exhaled heavily, front end dipping ever so slightly. "Are you going to let me finish now?"

"….yes."

"Thank you," Siddeley sniffed, before his demeanor sobered. "Now Finn, I _know_ you. I know that you'd rather shut your feelings away instead of letting them be known, and I understand that. But you can't become completely callous."

"And who said I was?" Finn queried artlessly, but the jet noted a touch of aggravation in his tone that he was failing to hide for once.

Siddeley sighed again. "No one did, but you know that what I'm saying is true. Now Leland Turbo was a world class spy, and he _will_ be missed, but you cannot honor his memory if you don't admit to yourself that he's gone."

A beat of silence passed. "I _know_ that he's gone," Finn muttered. The Aston Martin's eyes had moved to look out the window. All he saw were storm clouds in the distance.

* * *

**-Tomber- **

"Though I'm usually not one to interfere, what is, eh, "eating you", Finn?"

The Aston Martin looked up at the three-wheeled car before him. He closed one of his computer screens before speaking. "Whatever do you mean, Tomber?"

Tomber gave an awkward sort of shrug with his lone front tire. "You appear, erm, distracted. You are usually very…. immaculate." The spy car's gaze flitted over to the tow truck and Jaguar a few feet away, conversing in hushed tones, and then to the car parts dangling from the ceiling.

"Oh, I don't know, perhaps it's the scenery."

The Reliant Regal sent him a withering glare. "I know very well that you've zeen much worse, McMissile. Now, is it because of the _girl_?" Finn's eyes widened, shifting to Holley and back. Tomber was smirking.

"_No_," the spy car said rather forcefully. He was tense, but managed to speak normally as he continued. "Just a bit befuddled by today's mission."

Tomber just sighed. "Ah yes, I forget that you have next to no days off. But that does not mean that I wasn't right."

"About what?" Finn questioned in disinterest, opening another file on his internal computer.

The French car rolled his eyes. "You are always alone, Finn. This iz zee first time you've come with someone else—with a partner. It's not healthy, you know. To always be alone…"

Without looking up, Finn responded softly, "even so, it works out quite well for me, old chap."

* * *

**-Rod Redline-**

Finn winced in pain, rolling up the ramp. The Challenger and Mustang mix was soon to follow, the pair pockmarked in numerous dents and scrapes. The former of the two wore a permanent scowl, while the other, several years younger, wore a dirt-eating grin, with the swagger of one who had done something right.

The jet around them said nothing, but the firm silence was a definite clue to the disappointed scowl he was probably sporting.

The pair left muddy tracks in their ascent, not that any paid any attention to the fact, other than the grim reality that they would have to clean them by tire afterwards. They seated themselves then, an aura of tense silence around the Aston Martin, while the younger car only observed the interior of the jet with innocent interest.

A few minutes after take-off, the Challenger and Mustang mix broke the edgy quietude. "So…that was fun, wasn't it?" the American car questioned jovially, but flinched slightly at the piercing look his elder shot him. But when Finn remained quiet, he continued. "Aw, you're just sore 'cause I just saved your pathetic aft."

The Aston Martin growled under his breath, seething silently for a moment. "You did not save my—me. You did not save me, Rod," he ground out, stopping himself from uttering the rather vulgar statement.

Rod Redline chuckled, blue eyes shining with mirth. "Keep telling yourself that, McMissile. But just wait until High Command hears 'bout it—a rookie, CIA agent-in-training saving the aft of one of C.H.R.O.M.E.'s top new agents."

"You know, I believe that you and Leland would get along swimmingly," Finn muttered, examining his mud-caked tires in the dark reflection of a monitor. The American car chuckled again, shaking one of his own rubber appendages to rid it of its muck, spraying it around the cabin. The elder car looked down at a bit of mud that had splattered onto his fender, flicking it off with an antenna and sending his companion a withering look.

The Challenger and Mustang combination laughed again. "You _really_ need to learn how to lighten up, McMissile."

"I will "lighten up", as you call it, when we're out of the Amazons, and _not_ being attacked by its natives," Finn sniffed.

Rod's brow furrowed,"hey, they only chased us for an hour. I doubt they'd make it this far."

The elder of the two only rolled his eyes and let out a self-suffering sigh. "You will be the death of me one day, Rod."

"Nah," the American grinned. "If anything, you'll lead me to my death."

Finn scoffed. "As if you'd be _that_ easy to get rid of."

The pair chuckled, the tense atmosphere broken, before the British car began surveying his injuries again. "This is going to take weeks to buff out," he grumbled, turning to better scrutinize his reflection. Rod snorted.

"Always so concerned with image…"

The Aston Martin rolled his eyes, but ignored the jibe. _Let the American get over his immature streak_, he amended.

There was a pause, in which neither car spoke, before Rod abruptly asked, "say, Finn, where do you even go after every mission? I know that it's not the barracks…."

"That's classified," the British car said instantly, not even looking away from his reflection.

The younger car rolled his eyes, exhaled exasperatedly, "are you always this trusting with your friends, McMissile?"

"That's classified as well."

An even longer gap of silence passed, before Rod questioned slowly, "do you even trust _me_?"

Finn froze. He didn't turn to look at his friend, but he knew that if he did, he would see the familiar disappointment and expectancy in his features. And it wasn't because he was a spy; so as a result, trust was hard to come by. But it was because he was Finn McMissile, and trust was an utterly foreign concept.

The Aston Martin didn't react though—he didn't sigh, didn't try to explain, or even look his friend in the eye. And the effect of this would be disastrous.

"I trust no one, Mr. Redline. And only a rookie would make the mistake of doing so."

* * *

**-Miles Axlerod-**

C.H.R.O.M.E. Maximum Security Prison. A place for the clinically insane, for the powerful, and for the agency's worst enemies—all behind bars.

Except for one at the moment.

Miles Axlerod had been herded through the vast hallways by a Hummer guard on either side, when a voice had stopped the trio. "Wait a moment, please."

They turned to see an Aston Martin calmly driving over to them. The two guards were instantly at attention, one saying, "Agent McMissile! What can we do for you, sir?"

Finn examined the Range Rover's expression, smirking lightly when he saw that he was being glared at. "I was wondering if I could have a word with the prisoner," the spy car said, more of a statement than a question, and the two Hummers startled. Miles only narrowed his eyes.

One of the guards spoke, voice uncertain, and rightfully so. "Are you sure, sir?"

"Quite."

The Hummer's exchanged a glance, but nodded to their superior. "Do you want us to stay here, or—"

"Why don't you chaps make your rounds instead?" Finn suggested, looking back at Axlerod. "I do not believe he'll be going anywhere." The duo bobbed their hoods again, setting off down the hall. Once they were out of earshot, Miles smirked.

"So, Finn McMissile. We finally meet face to face."

The Aston Martin raised his hood, "indeed."

There was a brief pause, in which both vehicles sized the other up, before Miles rolled back, an eyelid raised. "So, what have you come to speak to me about?"

Finn paused, as if weighing his options. "What I want to know is why," he said finally.

And thus the Range Rover's eyelid went higher. "_Why_?" he chuckled, frame shaking with contained laughter. "I believe that I already explained myself. Why repeat it?"

The Aston Martin's mouth was set in a thin line. "You were speaking to a group of Lemon heads—you were bound to embellish a bit on what was going on. Name-calling isn't a just cause for the attempted murder of a race car."

"I think you're also forgetting about a few spies."

Finn's brow furrowed, and Miles chuckled again. "Ah, yes, forgive me. Still of a bit of a sore subject, isn't it? Leland Turbo and Rod Redline weren't they?" the Range Rover asked innocently. He hid his smirk upon seeing the rage building in the elder car's eyes. "Friends of yours?"

"_Why, _Sir Axlerod," the spy car choked.

"Humph," Miles grumbled. "The answer is simple really—wealth and power. My name and my so-called alternative fuel would have been soiled, so that everyone would return to normal gasoline. As for the deaths and injuries…they were only obstacles, hurdles for me to jump in order for me to achieve my goal. Their sacrifices were for a just cause."

Finn felt rage swell in his engine, and he became hot under the hood in response to his thrumming engine block. The Range Rover spoke of such horrifying deaths and destruction as uncaringly as one might comment on the weather…as if the loss of two of the world's greatest spies was inconsequential and unimportant. Had Axlerod given any thought to the lives he would alter as a result of their deaths? Not only his own—both Rod and Leland had families back home, wives and children that would be forced to grow up and continue without their fathers and husbands. Or even the race cars—one miscalculation and any one of them could've been killed. They had nearly done so to Lightning McQueen, who had a town full of family counting on him. How far could one's brutality go?

Finn returned to reality, only to see Miles smirking at him, as if daring the spy car to attack him. "Anything else I can assist you with, Agent McMissile?" he questioned haughtily.

The Aston Martin took a breath, in a vain attempt to quell his anger. He finally opened his mouth. "N-no. But I hope you enjoy your stay here, Sir Axlerod." He offered the Range Rover a final bow, before leaving the prison block.

* * *

_**-Holley Shiftwell-**_

The Jaguar breathed a sigh of contentment. This was the life—the warm sun on one's hood, calm music drifting out of the nearby café, and a myriad of smells and sounds saturating the air…and the hum of a computer in the background.

Her eyes snapped open, zoning in on the car on the other side of the table.

"Finn, can't you go one hour without looking up mission files?" she groaned, and the Aston Martin jumped, his not-so-secret activity revealed. He smiled sheepishly, the window closing.

"My apologies, Miss Shiftwell," he said with his most suave grin, but she only watched him with the same level gaze—wholly unimpressed. "But work calls to me still."

Holley sighed, rolling her eyes, but in a more understanding manner now. She stirred her tea with her antennae, the pair idling under the shade of a low hanging awning before a café. "You never can leave it, can you?" she teased affably. "Not even on our one day off?"

Finn sniffed defensively, demonstrating the younger side of him she hardly saw. "Well I would think not. Even on our "one day off" as you call it; there are files to be organized and records to be read. Very important stuff, you know."

She responded with another eye roll. "Yes, I do know. But I also know that you'll go mad if you continue working like this."

The elder spy car's eyes narrowed accusingly, "you aren't going to wipe out my entire hard drive again, are you?"

Holley sighed exasperatedly, shrugging openly with her tires. "I already told you that it was an accident! Anyway, you know that what I'm saying is true. You wouldn't want to overwork yourself."

A chuckle escaped the Aston Martin, "Miss Shiftwell, I have been working for C.H.R.O.M.E. for a vast majority of my life—I know what overworking oneself is like, and this is definitely not it." The younger car harrumphed good-humoredly, resigning herself to her tea. There was a small moment of comfortable silence before he spoke again. "Now, dare I ask—have you any news from Mater?"

This managed to get the smile back onto Holley's features. "Well yes, actually. He's apparently doing quite well, the town is more alive than ever, and he can't wait for us to "drop by" again." She giggled.

"He has such a way with words," Finn said, chuckling alongside his partner.

The Jaguar attempted to subdue her laughter for the time being in order to continue speaking. "I'm glad for Mater, though," she began thoughtfully. "He didn't choice the path that was expected of him—coming with us, that is. Instead he did what made him happy…staying with his family. What he always wanted…puts things in perspective, doesn't it?" she turned toward her partner, only to find him frozen, eyes wide. It had finally clicked.

"Erm...Finn?" she hedged. Hopefully he wasn't in another one of his rather abrupt moods. "Are you alright?"

Finn blinked, regaining a grip on reality. His azure eyes lock with her jade, and he smiled, a more genuine smile than she's ever seen on him. "Perfectly fine, Miss Shiftwell."

And she knew that this time he meant it.

* * *

**A/N: Yes...when I'm supposed to update other stories, I write new ones. **

**I'm not sure where this came from...again. And yes, the last drabble-thing could be seen as Holley/Finn, or just close friendship. The one with Leland was based before Cars 2, and the one with Rod was set WAY before. If anyone had any other questions on the sections, just mention them in the review :)**

**Each kind-of-drabble has a theme- Leland was loss, or guilt, Siddeley was realization and ignorance, Tomber was lonliness, Rod was trust, Axlerod was hate, and the last one with Holley was happiness. **

**Reviews are love, by the way :T**


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